


I Pray for Half an Hour

by WillowFromBuffy



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-01-17 12:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFromBuffy/pseuds/WillowFromBuffy
Summary: The forces of the universe are keeping the star crossed lovers apart. In this telling of the story, Buffy refuses to let fate decide. She is willing to break the rules to be with the man she chose.Her defiance may only grant her half an hour. Will it be enough? Will it be worth it?





	1. I Pray for Half an Hour

“Willow, she told me to tell you… ” Xander hesitated before continuing. “She said, _kick his ass!”_  
  
The words hit Buffy like a punch to the gut. Did nobody understand what she was going through? Were these her friends? Were they going to gleefully cheer her on as she turned her boyfriend into ash and dust? Buffy bit her lip and walked away from Xander. Her body was tense. Every muscle flexed. She gripped the sword so hard it hurt. Her knuckles slowly turned white.  
  
When she reached the mansion, she kicked the front door off its hinges without checking whether it was locked or not. A cloud of dust rose from the splinters. Buffy stepped out of the sunlight and crossed the threshold into the candlelit interior. The place reeked of decay and perversity. Horrible deeds had taken place there. Her boyfriend had committed horrible deeds there. No, not her boyfriend. Only the beast who possessed him now.  
  
Buffy heard voices from behind a curtain. She walked over to it and peered into the hall on the other side. Angel stood in front of the large demonic statue of Acathla. Beside him was the frail shape of Kendra’s killer. Drusilla cradled a dead puppy in her arm and stroked it tenderly as if it was alive.  
  
A pair of vampire goons stood guard. Buffy snuck up behind the closest one and decapitated him with a deft swing of her sword.  
  
“Hello, lover,” Buffy said to Angel, as his lackey’s smouldering head crashed against the ground.  
  
“I don’t have time for you,” Angel sneered.  
  
“Wrong,” Buffy said. “I am all you have time for.”  
  
Angel grinned. “You’re coming on a little strong here, baby. Do you really think ..?”  
  
His words were cut off. Spike had risen from his wheelchair and was now pounding his grandsire with an iron bar. The attack took Angel completely by surprise. Spike was finally able to vent his oedipal rage. The battle could have been over quickly if it had not been for Drusilla. She was clearly unamused by her paramour’s betrayal. Her waiflike body pounced upon Spike and pushed him away from Angel. The slayer killers went on each other like rabid animals.  
  
One of Angels’s henchmen pushed Buffy against a wall. Xander came charging into the room. The vampire turned to face him, giving Buffy the chance to stake it. Buffy and Xander exchanged quick looks, before Xander headed into the other room to rescue Giles.  
  
Buffy heard Angel laugh triumphantly behind her. While she had been distracted, he had walked up to the statue. His bleeding hand withdrew the sword from its stony chest. A magical current of blue lightning passed from the statue to Angel’s body, possibly infusing him with some of the demon’s power.  
  
“You almost made it, Buff!”  
  
Buffy spat. “Neither of us is getting what we wanted,” she said.  
  
Angel laughed. “My boy Acathla here is about to wake up. You’re going to Hell!”  
  
Buffy looked him dead in the eye and tried her best to remain calm. “Save me a seat,” she said. Her hand shook.  
  
Buffy charged forward. Her sword cut through the air. Her blade clashed with Angel’s. Sparks flew. She was not fighting with all she had. She knew she advertised her moves, because she could not bear the idea of letting her sword hit its mark and let it rend the flesh of … It was too painful to even think of. Angel expertly feinted all her thrusts, and she allowed it. It could not last. Angel became confident. She aimed too low. He stepped on her blade and gave her an elbow punch to her face. It sent her flying backwards, until she hit the wall hard.  
  
Angel laughed. “Now that’s everything, huh?” he teased. “No weapons... No friends... No hope. Take all that away and what’s left?”  
  
Buffy watched Angel lift his sword. Something started to build up inside her. Rage. The unfairness of everything she had gone through had become too much. She was putting her foot down. She would accept no further indignities. It was over. Angel’s blade shot towards her. Buffy closed her eyes and caught it between her hands. The friction burned her palms, but it stopped.  
  
“Me,” she said. “ _I’m_ still here.”  
  
She pushed the sword back towards Angel, hitting him in the face with the pommel. Angel toppled backwards. Buffy pounced upon his chest and started pounding him with her fists.  
  
“Come back,” she yelled. “Come back from there!”  
  
Angel’s hideously contorted face just laughed at her. His fangs gleamed. She hit him harder. He only grinned. She felt his hands on her. They tried to drag her down towards him. He would kill her unless she killed him. It was now or never. It was too late to wait for a miracle.  
  
That was when it happened. Angel’s eyes flashed. His fangs vanished and his face smoothened. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of confusion.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
“Angel?”  
  
“What’s happening?” Angel’s expression was full of pain, but he tried to smile. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in months.”  
  
Buffy flung her arms around him and pulled him close. Her body shook against his. She was too tense to cry freely, so all she did was softly sob. The air around them began to whirl. Buffy felt her hair lift. Something pulled at her. Buffy opened her eyes and saw a twirling vortex growing in front of the statue. Eldritch screams emerged from within.  
  
“Buffy!”  
  
Buffy turned around. Giles stood behind her, supported by Xander. His body bore the marks of the torture he had endured.  
  
“Buffy, you have to do it,” Giles said.  
  
“I won’t,” Buffy said through clenched teeth.  
  
“Look at what they’ve done to me,” Giles yelled. “Worse than this will happen to everyone on Earth if that portal is allowed to open.”  
  
Buffy looked away. She knelt down and picked up Angel’s sword. It felt heavy, clumsy, unbalanced. Her hand could barely swing it.  
  
“What are you doing?” Angel asked.  
  
“Shush,” Buffy cooed. “Don’t worry.” She pulled him in for a kiss. Their faces were wet with tears. She felt that Angel was awakening to the fact of what she was about to do, but he did not fight her. “Close your eyes,” she begged him.  
  
Angel did as he was told. His lids fell shut, but when Buffy drove her sword into his heart, they sprang up again. His face twisted into an expression of pained confusion. There was no reproach. He just wanted to know why. Spiderlike arms stretched out from the statues mouth and dug into Angel’s skin. They pulled and clawed at him, dragging him towards the opening portal. He stretched his hand out, perhaps hoping against hope that she would save him.  
  
Buffy felt a hand on her shoulder. “Avert your eyes, Buffy,” Giles said to her. “You should not have to look.”  
  
Buffy stood silent as stone. Her mind was numb. Then she laughed. She could not explain why she laughed. Maybe because she had made a choice and making it felt good. She grabbed Angel’s outstretched hand and held on. The vortex span ever faster. The arachnid arms tugged at Angel. Buffy heard Giles call out to her, but his words were lost. A wind blew into her face. The vortex enveloped her. She tried to look at Angel, but her eyes were watering. Everything was blurry. The room vanished. The wind trashed her around in a whirl. All she could do was hold on to Angel’s cold hand.  
  
****  
  
Liam opened his eyes slowly, before hiding his face beneath his pillow. He was not ready to meet the sunlight that crept through the rafters yet. A numbing headache crippled his brain. He remembered nothing from the night before. Not that it mattered. It had likely been a night like any other night. The turmoil in his stomach told him he had been drinking … a lot. Keeping it all contained was a struggle.  
  
There was a tankard on his nightstand. He must have brought it with him from the tavern. He needed some hair of the dog to set his mind straight. He sat up and took a deep swill. It tasted like hot piss. He knew it would be warm and that it would taste flat, but he had not expected it to be quite so revolting. It almost made him puke.  
  
There was a loud knock on the door.  
  
“I am not coming out,” Liam yelled. “I don’t feel well.”  
  
“And I know the reason why!” The door swung open and his father stormed in. “Up again all night, is it? Drinking and whoring!”  
  
Liam glared at him. “And a good morning to you, father.”  
  
His father spat on the floor. “You’re a disgrace.”  
  
Liam shrugged. “If you say so, father.”  
  
“Oh, I do. I do say so,” his father sneered. “I am ashamed to call you my son. You’re a lay-about and a scoundrel and you’ll never amount to anything more than that.”  
  
The words tore into Liam’s gut and gnawed at him from the inside. He felt an urge to explain himself or to promise he would do better, but he knew it was in vain. There was nothing he could do to save this.  
  
“If that is how you feel, father,” Liam mumbled. “Then why don’t you throw me out?”  
  
His father pointed a shaky finger at him. “I will…”  
  
“Too late,” Liam laughed. “I am already on my way.”  
  
He hoisted up yesterday’s trousers and rebuttoned the shirt he was still wearing. Why had he said that? Was he still drunk? It felt as though he had little control over his actions, as if he was merely following a script or acting in a familiar pattern. He pushed his father away from the door and stumbled past him.  
  
His sister looked at him with sad eyes. Liam knelt down before her and stroked her chin. “Sweet Kathy. No tears. We’ll meet again,” he whispered and kissed her forehead.  
  
His father came running after him. “If you leave now, don’t ever expect to come back.”  
  
Liam rose to his feet and rolled his eyes. “As you wish, father. Always, _just_ as you wish.”  
  
“It’s a son I wished for … a man. Instead, God gave me _you!_ A terrible disappointment.”  
  
Liam laughed. “Disappointment? A more dutiful son you couldn’t have asked for. My whole life you’ve told me in word, in glance, what it is you required of me, and I’ve lived down to your every expectations, now haven’t I?”  
  
“That’s madness!”  
  
“No. The madness is that I couldn’t fail enough for you. But we’ll fix that now, won’t we?”  
  
His father backed away. “I fear for you, lad.”  
  
“And is that the only thing you can find in your heart for me now, father?”  
  
“Who’ll take you in, huh? Who beside your family would ever love you? No one!”  
  
“I’ll not lack for a place to sleep, I can tell you that.”  
  
Liam left the house and stumbled down the cobble path. On his way, he glimpsed his father’s maid. She smiled hopefully at him. The sight of her blushing cheeks sent a shiver of pain through Liam. Who was he to play with the hopes of a young girl struggling desperately to get by? Could he not limit himself to those women whose reputation was already ruined? He ran. He could not bear to look at her.  
  
The setting sun burned into his neck. It felt as though its searing light was judging him. He felt uncomfortable and exposed. Daytime gave him no place to hide. He yearned for shadows and dark corners.  
  
The path brought him to the tavern. He had not planned to go there, but his legs had probably become accustomed to the journey. The inside of the building reeked. The air was filled with smoke. The floor smelled of piss, puke and spilled ale. His friends lifted their tankards to him in greetings. Their ugly grins frightened him. The remaining teeth they had were rotted and discoloured.  
  
The women begun swarming around them. Their hair fell in greasy tangles over their faces, as they leant forward to offer Liam a good view of their bosoms. They knew he had money and that he was generous with it. Behind their girly smiles, Liam thought he glimpsed womanly contempt. They hated him. Unmarried women had few options for supporting themselves. Liam tried to look away, but he found that he could not. He found their appearance revolting and their situation pitiable, though worst was the knowledge of how he had exploited their desperation.  
  
The tavern kept filling up. The men and women seemed to be circling around Liam. Everyone wanted a piece of him. His friends brought him drinks he could not keep himself from drinking. They laughed at their own jokes. Their filthy beards scratched his chin as they hugged him. A woman pushed a grape into Liam’s mouth. A hand clawed at his chest. Someone groped the inside of his thigh. Everywhere he turned, ugly faces grinned back at him, shouting for him to enjoy himself. He could not. He wanted to run. His body wanted to puke.  
  
Just as the monastic atmosphere was about to overpower him, an inexplicable sting of trepidation pricked Liam’s senses. Someone was studying him from afar. He did not know how he knew. He just felt it. A woman sat in the corner, asking questions about him, making plans for his future. Her sweet face was a mask for the demon underneath. Liam felt two pins prick against his neck. It was just a memory, but in his feverish confusion, he could not distinguish memory from reality.  
  
“I need to go,” he mumbled to his friends and darted out the door.  
  
The woman followed him. Her white dress trailed over the muddy cobblestone street. Liam wanted to run, but his legs were stiff and heavy. She gained on him. What would happen was inevitable. It had happened before and now it would again. Her teeth would rip his neck and bleed his humanity, force him to even greater lengths of depravity. Kathy … he was going to kill Kathy. He fell forward and hit his knees against the hard stone. The woman was right behind him. Her shadow fell across the ground beneath him.  
  
“Please, Darla,” Angled begged. “Not this time … not again. I cannot go through it all again.”  
  
“Hello, lover.”  
  
The words jolted Liam’s memory. He had heard those words recently, spoken from the same lips, though in a harsher tone than now. Now they sounded soft. Now they sounded inviting. He looked up and saw a radiant beauty looking down upon him.  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
Angel watched Buffy take his hand and kiss it. “I came for you,” she said.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Buffy squatted down so their eyes were on level with each other. She held both his hands now. Her lower lip shook. “Because,” she started. Then she swallowed. “Because I could not let you go, knowing I would be the only one who knew what a man you were.” She sniffed. “I would be the loneliest girl in the world.”  
  
Buffy kissed Angel on the forehead. Her moist lips left a wet imprint. Angel felt his heart sink. It was not right. She should not be here. This punishment was _his._ How was she even here? She wore the same dress as Darla had worn. Her hair was done up in similar curls. Was she a mirage? Had the demons created this apparition to tease him?  
  
“Don’t you dare say you’re not happy to see me,” Buffy warned him. “I came after you willingly.”  
  
“We’re in Hell,” Angel said. “You’ve followed me to _my_ Hell. What have I made you do?”  
  
Buffy smiled. “How does that old Irish saying go?” she mused, before pushing the sleeve of her dress off her shoulder. The opening in her dress widened until just before her right nipple was about to slip out. “Let’s try to have half an hour of fun before the Devil realizes what we are up to.”  
  
“This is not how it should be,” Angel protested.  
  
Buffy laughed. “After all that we have been through,” she said, “I can settle with little.”  
  
“It is all my fault…”  
  
“… and mine.”  
  
****  
  
Buffy pushed Angel onto his back. It did not matter that the dusty ground was wet and muddied. For months, she had fought, wept and done her best to suppress her feelings. Now she was desperate for some human contact. She needed to be loved. She needed to disappear into somebody else.  
  
Buffy peeled her dress off her other shoulder and pulled out her arms. The bodice fell to her waist as she wriggled herself free, making her look like a mermaid. The wind was cold against her skin. This time she would not be as coy as she had been the first time their bodies met. She let him stare at her appearing breasts without blushing. It was good to let her defences down and enjoy Angel’s admiring scrutiny.  
  
She put her hand into his lap and immediately felt something inside his pants respond to her touch. A bulge quickly rose to fill her hand. Buffy felt it hunger for her, begging her to cast off its restraints and let it out. Her fingers made their way underneath the waistline and pulled Angel’s pants down to his boots. She took his towering shaft in her hand and lowered herself onto it. This would take time. She would have to tease herself with the edge of his member until she was ready to receive it in full. Buffy bit her lip as her insides widened to accommodate him.  
  
It was different this time. Angel was like Liam now. He was warm. Heat built up inside her. Angel gripped her hair. He clawed at it, gathering more and more between his fingers. She bent down to kiss him and he sat up to meet her. How hard would she have to bite to bring a scream out of him? Very hard, it seemed.  
  
Her hands made their way underneath his shirt. Her palms stroked across his muscled abdomen, her fingers climbed up his ribcage, until she found her way up to his flexed chest. She tore open his shirt from the inside, exposing his naked body to the rain that suddenly started showering down on them. His flesh was so pale. Shadows danced in the outlines around his muscles. Buffy grabbed Angel’s chest again, digging her nails into him. He responded by cupping both of her breasts.  
  
She stared into his eyes, and was able to make him meet her gaze. “Tell me you’re not happy I came,” she whispered.  
  
“I can’t,” he gasped. The tiniest smile formed on the edge of his mouth.  
  
“Good boy,” she said, as she leant in to kiss him again.  
  
Buffy could sit like this forever, tugging at Angel’s lips, feeling the pressure of his member inside her, just enjoying the anticipation until her mind went crazy. Angel was not so patient. Before too long he started thrusting upwards and Buffy found herself being rocked up and down. Once she got used to the sensation, she wanted more and begun grinding against his lap.  
  
Angel started to groan. His groans turned to moans. They grew fainter and fainter, until he shivered underneath her and Buffy knew it was over. She was sad, because she had been so close to joining him. Then something caused her body to spasm. Angel’s thumb had found its way to a wet and tender spot in her sex. He prodded it gently but insistently. Buffy’s body wanted to scream with joy, but her lungs provided no air for her voice. It felt so good to give in and let her body shake as a wave of ecstasy passed through.  
  
She rolled down from Angel’s limp member and cuddled up in his arm. Their breathing was slow and strong. Everything felt right. All the anger and fear had vanished. The trials of the past months seemed an eternity away.  
  
“I may lose my soul again,” Angel mumbled.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy gasped. “I can take you.”  
  
Another spasm shook through Buffy’s legs and her lips let out an embarrassing squeak. Angel laughed.


	2. The Devil Knows You're Dead

Two opposing forces were present at the dawn of time. One formed the first humans from clay and breathed life into their bodies. We know this force as God the Creator. He made us, but he does not understand us. The other one does. The Devil understands our longings and our vices. He knows what we dream about when we sleep. To our creator, we are a mystery. To our tormentor, we are an open book. But the devil knows one thing that infuriates him. He knows he can never possess man completely. Even in the Devil’s own hellish dominion, men and women maintain that divine spark that separates them from the Devil and allows for small moments of defiance.  
  
Buffy followed Angel into Hell. She brought him out of the torment the Devil had devised for him. Such insolence could not stand. The lovers had had their moment. Now the Devil was ready to take back what was rightfully his.  
  
“Are you angry with me?” Buffy whispered, as she lay enveloped in Angel’s arms.  
  
Angel hesitated before answering. “Of course not,” he said, “but I wish you had not come.”  
  
Buffy put her hand on his cheek and pressed her forehead against his. “Just remember,” she said. “Whatever happens next, we had _this._ This moment was our little victory.”  
  
The area around them lay in complete darkness. They could hardly see each other. Angel imagined hearing hushed whispers from the shadows. It was as if he knew someone was planning their revenge and wanted him to know it was coming. He tried to suppress the feeling and enjoy what little time remained of their moment.  
  
Buffy’s chest heaved in slow rhythm against his own. It felt good to breathe again. To be human. To not make Buffy cold. They shared the heat that emanated from each other’s bodies. It gave Angel a feeling of union. It was beautiful. He listened to Buffy’s breathing. Her nipples tickled his skin as they moved. But her breaths were not as deep as before. Her body was coming down from its recent exertion. Her breathing became fainter and fainter until he could hardly hear it. Her skin, which had recently been smooth with sweat, was turning colder. They would have to get dressed soon.  
  
Buffy’s hand moved from Angel’s shoulder down to his biceps. Her fingers squeezed against his arm, feeling the firmness of his muscle as it flexed. Then she pressed harder. Her nails dug into his skin. It was becoming painful. She was _sooo_ cold.  
  
Angel stroked the hair away from Buffy’s face. Two catlike eyes glared fiercely back at him. He felt hot blood run down his arm. Buffy was so cold. Her face contorted into an ugly grimace. Angel thought he heard her hiss at him. When he realised what was happening, it was too late. She overpowered him and brought her frothing mouth to his neck. Her sharp teeth ripped open his skin, so she could feed on his blood.  
  
Buffy did not feel so cold any more. Angel’s body was shutting down. His vision and his consciousness was fading. Angel wished it was the end, but he knew it was not. He knew what would come next. The play was back on track. The actors were once more playing their parts.  
  
Buffy let go of Angel’s arm and ran her finger in a parallel line below her collarbone, using her clawlike nail to cut a deep tear in her skin. Then she cupped the back of Angel’s head and hugged him to her bosom. Cold blood streamed into his mouth.  
  
When he woke up again, he was trapped inside his coffin. At first, he panicked, instinctively believing he would suffocate. Then he remembered that he required no oxygen. He punched against the lid until his knuckles bled and wet soil started seeping into the coffin. Then he clawed his way through the mud to the surface.  
  
Buffy was standing beside his gravestone. She looked so much like Darla now that he could hardly tell them apart. They were fusing together in his mind. He had to work to hold on to the knowledge that this was all an illusion. Or was it? Hell does not distinguish so easily between the illusory and the real.  
  
Buffy did not say anything. Angel wanted to speak, but found he could not. What would he say? His feelings were unutterable. The thing he was going to do had created a scar in his chest that would never heal. Now he would have to do it all again. The first time, he had been cold and detached. A part of him wanted to find that coldness again – wanted to shut himself off from the horror - but a voice in his head warned him that he needed to hold on to the pain. The Devil had owned his body for over a hundred years. Now they were fighting for his soul.  
  
His feet were already moving. Darla trailed behind him. He felt her cold gaze on his back, but he dared not turn around to meet it. Was there anything left of Buffy inside her? Had Buffy even been there? Had she simply been a mirage sent to tease him? His memory faded. He was once again Liam, recently reborn as a vampire, soon to become the terrible Angelus.  
  
The road to his home seemed strange and unfamiliar. He knew the way, his feet were compelled to walk it, but it did not feel as if he had been there before. There was an odd tint to everything. The trees silently communicated that he was unwelcome. He was not the man who had climbed them as a child. He was something different. A posturing pretender. An intruder.  
  
He arrived at the house. There was candlelight in the windows. The door stood ajar. Angel dragged his legs over the porch. He was stalling as much as he could. On the threshold, he stopped. It seemed as if he had some power after all. He could stand there until the end of time and never enter.  
  
The sound of footsteps came from inside. Someone was coming out to meet him. It was his sister. She carried a candle in her shaking little hands.  
  
“Brother,” she called him. “Have you come home to us?”  
  
She was nervous. He could clearly hear her heartbeat increase its rhythm, making her blood flow faster through her body. He could see the tiny blue veins through the pale skin on her wrists.  
  
“No,” Angel stammered. “I have not come home. I … I have to go.”  
  
“Are you an angel, brother?” his sister asked. “Do you want to come inside?”  
  
“I am not an angel, Kathy. Please go to your room.”  
  
She looked confused, yet hopeful. “Come inside,” she said. “I have missed you so much. You look cold.”  
  
He _was_ cold. He was so incredibly cold, but her blood could make him warm again. For a moment, as her blood coursed through his body, he would feel almost human. Her heart was beating ever louder.  
  
“I have to go, Kathy,” Angel whispered.  
  
A shadow fell over the room. His father had left his side at the fireplace and entered from the living room. He walked up behind Kathy and placed his hands protectively on her shoulders.  
  
“There you are, my son,” he said.  
  
“I am leaving, father.”  
  
“So soon?” His father chuckled coldly. “I thought you were ready to embrace who you are.”  
  
Angel felt the features of his face harden. His canines grew into large fangs. Kathy gasped in horror, but her father held her fast.  
  
“This isn’t who I am,” Angel yelled. “I was made this way.”  
  
“... and you were pleased for it,” his father sneered.  
  
“I spent so many years alone, reliving this moment…” Angel tried to retract his fangs, but found he could not.  
  
“Admit it, my son. You were happier being a soulless beast.”  
  
Angel roared. Anger coloured his vision red. He leapt inside the room, making his father back away in terror. Angel swung his arm at his father and sprayed his blood across the walls. He was about to pick his father’s limp body from the floor and suck it dry, but a sharp noise cut into his ears. Kathy was screaming at the top of her lungs. Angel turned and saw her huddled up in the corner. The sight brought him back to himself. He stumbled backwards and crawled away towards the door, but before he could reach it, the door swung shut, locking him inside. Angel tried to push it open, but someone stronger was pressing against him.  
  
“Let me out,” Angel begged. “God, please, let me out!”  
  
“God doesn't want you,” a cold voice answered from the other side. “Now go make your momma proud!”  
  
****  
  
Several months later...  
  
Willow waited until she was absolutely certain her parents were asleep. Then she turned on her table lamp and got out of bed. She was still dressed. Her rucksack lay ready in her closet, along with a pair of shoes. She threw the rucksack across her back and stepped out on the balcony. There she put on her shoes, before lowering herself silently onto the soft grass. Her parents’ bedroom was on the other side of the house. If she left through the neighbours’ garden, they would not be able to see her, even if they were awake.  
  
Cordelia was late. Willow started walking in the direction she would be coming from. After a few minutes, she saw a pair of headlights coming towards her. She breathed a sigh of relief. The car pulled up beside her and she got inside.  
  
“Thank you,” Willow muttered absentmindedly as she fastened her seatbelt.  
  
“For what?” Cordelia asked. “You haven’t even told me what we are doing.”  
  
“Just start driving,” Willow said.  
  
They drove off. The atmosphere between them was tense. The last few months had been difficult.  
  
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Cordelia asked.  
  
Willow sighed. “As I told you: No questions!”  
  
They drove further into the night. Willow guided Cordelia to a road without street lights. Only the headlights on the car showed Cordelia where to drive.  
  
Cordelia nervously tapped the steering wheel. “So…” she began. “What do you think of Giles’s new slayer?”  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. “I’ve been keeping clear of the stuffy old traitor and his cleavagy slut-bomb.”  
  
“You’re that mad at him, huh?” Cordelia sighed deeply. “What happened the day Buffy vanished?”  
  
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” Willow snorted.  
  
Cordelia hit the brakes and pulled the car to a screeching halt.  
  
“Why are you stopping?” Willow snapped.  
  
“Because I am tired of this B.S.,” Cordelia said. “This has been the worst summer ever. You all act like jerks. I miss Buffy, too, but you all need to get over yourself.” She made a grimace. “I only agreed to help you, because I hoped I could ask you about what happened that day.”  
  
Willow took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Cordelia,” she said. “I don’t know what happened. Giles and Xander are both stonewalling me.”  
  
Cordelia looked sad. Willow could see she wanted to understand.  
  
“I will tell you my plan, soon,” Willow said, “but we are almost out of time.”  
  
Cordelia started the car again. Willow could sense her frustration. Luckily, it would all be over soon. She opened her rucksack and pulled out a large grimoire. It was still enough dust on it to create a cloud that tickled the nostrils as she opened it. She had marked the page. Giles would be furious if he saw that she had made footnotes in the margins. He would be furious anyway, as soon as he realised the book was gone from the werewolf cage.  
  
“Adonai, Helomi, Pine. The gods do command thee from thy majesty. O Mappa Laman, Adonai, Helomi. Come forward, blessed one. Know your calling.”  
  
Cordelia observed her with a concerned look. “That sounds ominous,” she said.  
  
“Keep your eyes on the on the road,” Willow muttered. “Look out for a…”  
  
Cordelia screamed. A deer had stepped out in front of them and were staring straight into the headlights of the car. Cordelia hit the brakes, but it was too late. Willow was thrown forward, but the seatbelt held her back. The airbag shot out and pushed the book into her nose.  
  
“I am so sorry,” Cordelia said. “What do we do?”  
  
The deer lay lifeless in front of the car.  
  
“Sit still,” Willow barked nasally. Blood streamed from her right nostril. She snorted and wiped her face with the back of her hand, before taking a knife out of her rucksack and using it to puncture the airbags.  
  
“We need to get to a phone and call someone,” Cordelia said.  
  
“Later!” Willow snapped.  
  
She exited the car, bringing along the knife and a ceramic urn. The deer seemed to have died on impact. It made her job easier. She squatted down and quickly took what she needed.  
  
When she was back in her seat, Cordelia looked at her as if she was a maniac. It was no surprise. Her fingers and her clothes were smudged. Cordelia would have watched the entire thing through the window.  
  
“Take a moment to compose yourself,” Willow said. “Then drive!”  
  
“Will…”  
  
“Drive!”  
  
Cordelia’s mouth clapped shut. With a shaky hand, she found the ignition and got the engine started again. One of the headlights were gone, but most of the damage to the car seemed to have been superficial.  
  
“I never would have bullied you if I knew you were this scary,” Cordelia muttered.  
  
“I never would have let you bully me if I knew I could be this scary,” Willow muttered in response.  
  
They pulled up in front of the old mansion. Willow had not let Cordelia know where they were going. It was easier to direct her step by step. Her plan was sound, but it would take too long to explain it all at once.  
  
The demon statue still stood in the middle of the main hall. Willow carried her stuff in and started working. The symbols needed to be drawn just right for the magic to take hold. There was no room for mistake.  
  
“You are drawing a pentagram,” Cordelia remarked. “Shouldn’t you do like in the Exorcist? Squirt holy water and shout _'the power of Christ compels you'?_ ”  
  
“First of all,” Willow said, “I am _still_ Jewish. Secondly…” She pointed at a pile of crosses, broken bottles and a Greek Bible that lay in the corner. “I already tried that. It didn't work, but tonight I am showing Acathla that I can speak _his_ language. We'll be trading curses and swears.”  
  
It took almost half an hour to spread the chalk and place the candles in the right constellations. Cordelia sat half sleeping against the wall. Willow had refused to let her help so far. Now she went over to her and woke her up.  
  
“I have a task for you, Willow,” said.  
  
“Gee,” Cordelia enthused unconvincingly. “Do I get to be dirty too?”  
  
“No,” Willow assured her. “I need you to read this.” She pushed a piece of crumpled paper into Cordelia’s hand. “It is an incantation. It is in ancient Aramaic, but I have written it out phonetically. Just read it as it is.”  
  
Cordelia looked it over. “What does it do?”  
  
“I have drawn a protective circle around the ritual area to keep demonic spirits from entering,” Willow explained. “The incantation will make sure the demons can’t cross the chalked line.”  
  
“What happens if they do?”  
  
Willow frowned. “Then we get to experience what a horde of ravaging demonic spirits will do to a pair of girls given the chance. It is easy. Don’t stop chanting. Look straight up at the spirits and talk in the same voice you used when you spoke to Harmony this morning.”  
  
“How am I supposed to look the demons in the eyes and read at the same time?”  
  
Willow ignored her. It was time to start. She sat down in front of the statue. The first step of the ritual proper was anointment. She dipped her finger into the urn and painted her face like a football player.  
  
“Stupid statue,” Willow muttered. “Let's see who truly has the stones.”  
  
****  
  
Buffy blinked her eyes. Something had changed. She was no longer a vampire. She looked at her hands. They were tiny and childlike. She was back in the house where Angel grew up. Liam’s house. After having spent so much time as Darla, it was odd to be human again and to feel those once familiar life giving rhythms of her body ... but it was obvious that she was not herself. She was tiny … _er.  
  
_ If this was the house where Angel grew up, then Liam would be nearby. She got up from her seat and walked over to the door of one of the bedrooms. Her long dress trailed across the floor as she moved. She would never have believed that the worst thing in Hell would be all the cumbersome outfits she would have to wear.  
  
She knocked on the door. There was no answer, but she heard someone snoring inside. Something told her this was Angel’s room. She opened the door carefully. The squeaky hinges made her wince. Liam was inside, but he did not wake. He was dressed in yesterday’s crumpled clothes.  
  
There was no use trying to rouse him. Even if she managed to wake him, he was bound to be in a bad mood. Better to let him sleep it off. The stench of alcohol was so palpable you could have lit the air on fire.  
  
The house was empty. Another day with nothing to do. Buffy sighed and left Liam’s room. She took a book from the bookcase and went outside. It was a beautiful day. _A beautiful day in Hell_. She sat down in the grass and leaned back against the thick trunk of a tree. From here she could see most of the town. She wondered what everyone was doing. Were they working or were they in bed, sleeping off yesterday’s booze?  
  
She opened the book in her lap. She had read it a thousand times. It was the only book they owned that was not a Bible or a psalm book. This was a book of folk tales. All the stories were more or less the same. A lovely maiden slowly grows into an ageing spinster as she waits for the roving adventurer to come home and marry her.  
  
“Up already?”  
  
Buffy started. She looked up and saw Liam. With all that long, tangled hair, he did not look much like Angel.  
  
“I am sitting on this side of the tree, because the sun hits us from the west,” Buffy mumbled.  
  
Liam raised a puzzled eyebrow.  
  
Buffy frowned. “It means we're long past noon.”  
  
Liam sat down beside her. “You know me,” he said. “I am the nocturnal kind.”  
  
She looked at him. “I wish you weren’t.”  
  
He laughed. Then he looked sad. “Father is sending me away again,” he said grimly.  
  
Buffy’s heart sank. “Again? For how long?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Liam said. “There was some issue with our distributer. He needs me to sort it out.”  
  
Buffy looked away.  
  
Liam put one of his big arms around her. “Hey… don’t pout. I’ll be back before you know it.”  
  
Buffy sighed. “One day, I will be the one to go away, and then people will miss _me.”  
  
_ “Don’t you think I miss you when I am gone?” Liam asked.  
  
“No,” Buffy answered. “Because you’re always gone. Or just sleeping all day.”  
  
Liam leaned in and hugged her. “No tears, Kathy. Be brave.”  
  
Buffy squeezed him as hard as her tiny arms managed. “He’s only sending you away, because you drink too much when you are home.”  
  
****  
  
Buffy kept hugging tighter, until she realised she was hugging only herself. She was looking into a mirror and saw a reflection of Whistler with his arms wrapped around his chest. “Huh,” she said in an unfamiliar voice. “This is me know? I miss being Darla.” The stench of alcohol was still present. She breathed into her hand and realised that this time it was _she_ who smelled.  
  
The sink before her was filled with water. She felt drowsy. Perhaps the water would wake her up. She put her hands around the sink and lowered her head until it was submerged in the water. It was terribly cold but refreshing. Then she heard a voice. She pulled back up and looked around. She was alone. It was only her in the filthy little bathroom. But she had definitely heard a voice.  
  
She decided the voice may have come from the sink itself. Intrigued, she leaned down and dipped her right ear under the surface. At first, she heard nothing, but then she recognized the unmistakable voice of Cordelia. “Give up,” she heard Cordelia say. “This is pointless. You are starting to look like one of those AIDS victims.” That didn’t make much sense to Buffy, so she kept listening. “Shut up,” another, much louder voice said. “It is working. I am almost done.” It was Willow. “The shadow people are coming back,” Cordelia said. She sounded as if she was further away than Willow was.  
  
Buffy stood up. Was her friends trying to rescue her? Did this sink function like the wardrobe in Narnia? She tried dipping her hand in the water, hoping she could push through some tear in the fabric of reality or somesuch. She found nothing but solid ceramic.  
  
She waited for a while, but heard no more voices. Perhaps she had only imagined it. It did not seem as if there was anything she could do from her end. If her friends were trying to rescue her, then she would just have to wait. In the meantime, she could try to find Angel. Whistler seemed to know where he was. She let her legs carry her out of the bathroom and down the stairs.  
  
She came into a large basement space. Angel was dancing back and forth across the rough concrete floor, swinging a longsword. Buffy leaned against the wall. Angel looked rough and his hair was unkempt, but his expression was determined and his movements were graceful. Buffy watched his chest flex and relax as he moved. She had seen him shirtless quite a few times, and they had slept together twice, but the sight still had that added tint of novelty. Would it always feel like that?  
  
Angel stopped in his tracks. “Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked irritably.  
  
Buffy was caught by surprise. “You are training,” she stammered in her unfamiliar voice. “A lot.”  
  
“I need to be my best,” Angel mumbled.  
  
“That girl is certainly getting one dedicated guardian,” Buffy said.  
  
Angel drank down a cup of pig’s blood, making Buffy wince in disgust.  
  
“She is like me in a lot of ways,” Angel said. He sat down the stained cup and started pacing back and forth across the concrete on his naked feet. “I was chosen for evil. She was chosen for good. Neither of us had a choice. She will suffer for what was done to her, just as I suffered for what was done to me.”  
  
“What … what does that mean to you?” Buffy … er …. Whistler … whoever ... asked.  
  
Angel threw a towel over his shoulders and ruffled his longish hair. “I don't know,” he groaned. “It is silly.”  
  
“Come on, big guy,” Whistler teased. “Tell me. You don't care what I think about you anyway.”  
  
Angel sat down on a stool and buried his face in his hands before looking up again. Buffy started a little, because it felt as though his frowny gaze penetrated through the skin that disguised her.  
  
“Maybe I can have a friend,” Angel said. “Maybe neither of us will have to bear our burdens alone.” He laughed. “It sounds selfish saying it. I was already a man when Darla cursed me. She is just a young girl. Still...” His skin was so pallid it was almost translucent. “If she needs my help in any way, she will have it. There is nothing else in this world for me to do.”  
  
Whistler swaggered across the room and put an arm on Angel's wet shoulder. “As good a reason as any,” he said. His tone was not mocking.  
  
****  
  
Cordelia shouted the incantation one last time. The shadow men scattered back into the darkness. _Ha!_ Cordelia thought triumphantly. _A bunch of scared little sheep is all they are._ Her throat was dry after all the chanting.  
  
She turned around and looked at Willow. The sight of her made her jump. Willow had stripped down to her tank top. Her arms and shoulders were bleeding from several long paper cuts. There was even an ugly rift across her right cheek.  
  
“Will... are you all right?”  
  
Willow ignored her. She scrambled up from her knees and walked towards the statue. Her skin glistened in the flickering candlelight.  
  
“What the Hell is wrong with you?” Willow yelled at the stone figure. “Is my Latin bad? How about English? Parlez-vous français? Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Capeesh?” She punched the statue in its stone face, reddening her knuckles. “It shouldn't matter. _I'm_ in charge! Now do as I tell you or I'll chisel you dow...”  
  
Cordelia was blinded by a searing light, followed by a shockwave that knocked her off her feet and onto her back. Her body was tossed around the floor. She coughed and inhaled some dust that burnt her nostrils. When she came to, she looked down at her hand, and saw the smeared chalk beneath it.  
  
“Willow,” she shouted.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
Willow was heading back to the statue, carrying the thorn off leg of a chair.  
  
“I *cough!* broke the circle,” Cordelia said.  
  
Willow's eyes widened. “Start chanting again,” she commanded. “Many of the candles blew out. We will be vulnerable now!”  
  
“Shouldn't we get out of here?” Cordelia asked, dusting off her skirt.  
  
“If we step outside the light cast by these candles, we will be ripped to pieces,” Willow warned. “Don't worry. It's all under control. You chant! I'll work on the statute!”  
  
“With a piece of wood?”  
  
Willow frowned. “If I was a pigeon, I would shit on it.” She turned back to the statue and started battering it with the broken chair leg, while screaming curses at it.  
  
Cordelia turned her attention back towards the darkness. It had gotten decidedly chillier. A draft blew into the room and made the candlelights flicker. Strange shapes danced before her. _I have the power,_ Cordelia reminded herself. _They are all just little Harmonies._ Something cold coiled itself around her wrist and tugged at her. Cordelia screamed. It was trying to pull her away.  
  
“Don't touch me, you … thing!” she yelled at the nothingness that was grabbing her. “It may not be apparent, but I have barbs.”  
  
****  
  
The room started to shake. Angel jumped up from his stool.  
  
“Don't worry,” Whistler said. “It is just an earthquake. We should be s...”  
  
“No...” Angel said. “This is something else.”  
  
The walls came down and the floor crumbled underneath them. This should be impossible. They were in a basement. Angel caught hold of a cracked board of wood, but it crumbled to sawdust in his hand. He fell into nothingness. It felt as though the fall would last forever. The landing was hard, even for a vampire.  
  
“The time for games is over now,” a mocking voice said.  
  
Angel pushed himself up. He was kneeling atop an island that seemed to float in empty space. A dark void surrounded them on all sides. Before him stood a man … or … some strange caricature of a man. His limbs looked oddly elongated. There was something unnatural about his taut skin, which was drawn over his head in a way that distorted the features of his horrible face.  
  
“Who are you?” Angel asked.  
  
The man chortled and played with his skeletal fingers. “I am a man of both wealth and taste,” he said. “This is my domain. _You_ are _mine._ ”  
  
“I am nobody's,” Angel said and got up on his feet. “I am different now.”  
  
“You are not different,” the man said. He strode towards Angel atop his stiltlike legs. “Don't lie to me. I see all that you are.”  
  
“You really don't...”  
  
The man slapped Angel across the face, cutting up his cheek. “You insolent whelp! You think the little flicker of hope you cradled mattered? You're damaged goods. If you were going to change, you would have done so decades ago.”  
  
Angel growled and bared his fangs. “Are you telling me this or are you just trying to convince me?” he sneered.  
  
The man sneered back at him. His crisp lips parted to reveal his uneven teeth. “I am making you _see_ , little one.”  
  
“Well, you're words won't cut it,” Angel said. “I have suffered every torment and indignity known to man. When I say that nothing can sway me from this path, I have the experience to back that up.”  
  
The man grinned wolfishly, before thrusting his hand into Angel's naked chest. Birdlike talons buried into Angel's flesh. Angel was lifted up from the ground and then thrown back through the air.  
  
The man came prancing towards him. The hand he had impaled Angel with was dripping with blood.“Two opposing forces were present at the dawn of time. One formed the first humans from clay and breathed life into their bodies. You mortal wretches call this...”  
  
“Oh, please!” A short man stepped in to block his path. “Do we have to listen to a damned sermon before we kill you?” It was Whistler.  
  
The ugly man towered above Whistler and held his talons ready to strike, but he looked confused. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Go back to the shadows!”  
  
“We are not your puppets, you freak,” Whistler said.  
  
The ugly man tilted his head. “Who are you?” it asked. Its voice was hoarse and inhuman.  
  
Whistler made a wry smile. Then he held his hands up to his face, dug his fingers into his skin and started to peel it off with his nails. Angel looked on in horror as Whistler tore the skin from his skull, revealing a different face hidden underneath. It was… It was the young slayer Whistler had shown him.  
  
“You keep calling me Dimitri,” Buffy sniggered. “You _really_ shouldn’t.”  
  
The ugly man laughed. “Slayer and vampire,” it said. “Your powers are rooted in darkness. I _am_ that darkness.”  
  
Eight horrible arms rose from behind the ugly man’s back and fanned out like a peacock’s tail. The arms were black and hairy with sharp claws at the end. One of the arms thrust out towards Angel and hit him in his chest wound, penetrating him through to his back and pinning him to the ground. The pain was excruciating. He grabbed the arachnid arm with his hands and tried to pull it out, but he only served to twist his own insides. Buffy came to his aid and managed to tear the arm apart at one of its joints. Angel screamed as Buffy withdrew the severed limb back out through the hole it had made in him. His insides burned with poisonous acid.  
  
The ugly man unhinged his jaw and opened his mouth to utter a terrifying scream. Buffy stabbed him in his throat with the tip of his own arm. She had to jump out of the way when the man brought four of his other arms down upon her. Their spearlike tips buried into the ground as they missed.  
  
Angel felt himself drift out of consciousness. Buffy was moving so fast that she was almost a blur to him. She seemed to dodge man-spider's arms with relative ease, but one hit from those thick claws would likely be enough to kill her. There was no telling who would end up victorious. Angel crawled towards them. It was hopeless. He was too dizzy to stand. There was no strength in his limbs.  
  
His lids fell shut. He barely felt the warm hands that grabbed him and pulled him up. The pain vanished and the wound in his chest closed itself. Something had hoisted him high up in the air. Beneath him, he saw Buffy snap the neck of the arachnid man. Angel wanted to call out to her, but his throat gave him no voice.  
  
He ascended up to a stony platform. The invisible arms that had carried him dropped him there. He rose to his feet. A hooded man stood in a doorway and gestured for Angel to join him inside.  
  
****  
  
Buffy pushed the body of the demon away from herself. It was dead. Not that it mattered. They were both falling into the same abyss. Fire and brimstone presumably awaited deep down in the darkness. Then something happened. Her descent started to slow. A great wind caught her and pulled her upwards. For a moment, she was naked, then a blanket of soft satin draped her body.  
  
Her feet landed softly upon the stone steps of church. Her sight was obscured by a white veil. She pushed it over her head. She was wearing the widest dress she had ever seen. How on earthy would she walk in this without tripping over herself?  
  
The doors swung open. She could see Angel standing in front of the alter, speaking to a man in robes. They looked up as they saw her enter. The man in robes vanished into the sacristy. Angel smiled at Buffy. He looked quite dashing in his suit, even if his jacket was almost as large as the long coats he always wore. Buffy drank in the sight of him as she walked through the aisle. It did not matter to her that all the seats were empty. This scene was perfect as it was.  
  
“Hi…” Angel said awkwardly.  
  
“Angel?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is it you? Is it really you this time?”  
  
“It is.”  
  
Angel took Buffy’s hands in his own. They were Angel’s cold hands, not Liam’s warm ones, but Buffy did not need body heat to feel happy at the touch.  
  
“Where are we?” Buffy asked.  
  
“We’re almost home,” Angel said. “That man I spoke to, he said he served some celestial power.”  
  
“Are they taking us out of Hell?”  
  
“Yes,” Angel said. “We are not exactly in Hell anymore. Someone has been pulling this Hell-dimension closer to Earth. The two realities almost crashed into each other, but the higher powers managed to prevent a cataclysm. When we step through those doors,” he pointed down the aisle, “we will be back in Sunnydale.”  
  
Buffy grabbed Angel’s cheeks in her palms and pulled him in for a kiss.  
  
“So we made it, then?” she sobbed. “We get to have everything?”  
  
“Not quite.”  
  
Angel picked up a pair of rings that rested on the altar ring and held them in his palm.  
  
“The man in the robes,” Angel began, “he told me we will have to part ways soon.”  
  
Buffy’s heart sank. “What? Why?” She looked around. Rings? Church? Big dress? Was this all an elaborate hellish prank?  
  
“Because the world needs us,” Angel said. “There is work that we must do. I have things I must atone for and you have a destiny to fulfil.”  
  
“Screw destiny and fuck atonement,” Buffy said, not caring she was in a church. It wasn’t a real church, she rationalised. Just a made up Hell-church.  
  
“Please, Buffy,” Angel cooed. “If I am needed, I have to go. A part of me does not want to come back from Hell after what I have done. I need to prove to myself that I have a place in the world.”  
  
“Didn’t _I_ prove that when I came after you?” Buffy asked.  
  
Angel smiled. “I guess you did.”  
  
“But you are still going to leave me?” Buffy could not stop her lower lip from trembling.  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Then what are those rings for?”  
  
“For hope,” Angel said. “The man said that one day we will be brought together to save the world. If we succeed, and if we still want to, then we can be together again.”  
  
Buffy frowned. “That is a lot of ifs and whens. Why should we care what some magic clergyman thinks?”  
  
“Buffy.” Angel took a deep breath. “I can’t come back to Sunnydale and be part of your life. I killed Ms Calendar and many others. Kendra died. I tortured Giles. How can I be with you when all your friends hate me and remind me how much I hate myself? If I get a few years on my own to try to make things right, to prove I can do something good…”  
  
“Angel…” Buffy bit her lip. Her mind was racing, looking for words. “Why should any of this matter? You did not have a soul. If my friends don’t understand that, then so what? I am strong. Giles can’t stop me from doing what I want.”  
  
“I doubt Giles will ever forgive me for what I have done,” Angel said, “but please don’t be angry with him. He probably needs you right now.”  
  
“I _am_ angry,” Buffy said with a pout. “I must be angry at someone. It is either Giles or you.”  
  
Angel dropped himself down on one knee. He held the rings out to Buffy. “This is not a promise,” he said. “When we part, we will not see each other for a long time. I don't wont you to wait for me, and I ask you not to worry about me...”  
  
“Get up, you fool,” Buffy snapped. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks.  
  
Angel smiled. “If I was as brave as you, I would tell everything else to be damned and carry you off into the sunset.”  
  
Buffy closed her eyes. She wasn't ready to have everything ripped away from her again. A lump in her throat kept her from speaking.  
  
“Before I met you I was nothing,” Angel said. “The Powers promised there would be a time for us. Give me a few years to turn myself into someone worthy.”  
  
Buffy dropped onto her knees. She leaned forward and put her hand on the nape of Angel's neck, knocking both their foreheads together.  
  
“Will you wear the ring?” Angel asked.  
  
“Are you going to kiss me?” Buffy countered.  
  
****  
  
Cordelia was close to fainting from exhaustion. She had been chanting the same incantation for what seemed like hours. The light from the candles did not reach as far as they had. Shadows were encroaching past the breached chalk circle. Shapes of thick smoke reached out for her.  
  
“You pathetic little demon-kin,” Cordelia hissed. “Who gave you permission to even exist? If I want to date Xander, then that is my own damned decision, isn't it? You sad little sheep all need to be told how to dress and how to speak … I mean, take a look in the God damn mirror!”  
  
The shadows drew away from her. The room turned a little brighter.  
  
Cordelia grinned triumphantly. Behind her, she could still hear the sound of Willow banging on the statue with her stick. Cordelia turned around. “Could you stop that?” she snapped. “For one, it is clearly not working. Secondly, it is giving me a headache.”  
  
Willow ignored her. She kept hitting the statue with all her strength, achieving nothing else than making a hellish racket. Cordelia was about to speak again, but something whipped itself around her neck and lifted her up. She tried to pull free, but there was nothing in the smoky shape to grab on to. The thing was slowly strangling her. Behind her, she still heard Willow banging away at the statue, probably unaware of what was happening.  
  
Then someone came flying out of the darkness. Cordelia was football-tackled and brought down to the ground. She looked up and saw Faith laying over her. The slayer gave her a quick grin, before jumping back up on her feet. Cordelia sat up. Giles had entered the room. He was sprinkling holy water everywhere. The smoky shadows fizzled as the water hit them. Xander and Wesley brought up the rear, holding wooden crosses up in from of themselves.  
  
Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. Xander ran up to her and pulled her to her feet. They embraced.  
  
“Don't presume I'll just forgive you, you dork,” she said.  
  
Xander smiled. “It wouldn't be worth it if it was that easy.”  
  
They both turned towards Willow. Giles had walked up to her and was putting his arm on her shoulder. “Willow, you need to stop this,” he said. “The powers you have brought her are more volatile than you...”  
  
Willow pushed him away. “I am almost finished,” she yelled. Her voice was odd and her darkened pupils were weirdly dilated.  
  
Giles yanked the stick from her hand and threw it against the wall. “We need to get out of her,” he yelled. “We are all going to die!”  
  
Willow hit Giles across the jaw. He stumbled backwards and might have fallen had Faith not caught him. Cordelia put her hand over her mouth in shock. Willow turned back to the statue. She grabbed Acathla's head with both her hands. A bright light shone from under her palms. The whole mansion shook. Willow seemed to pull with all her strength, until the statue's head suddenly came loose and she tumbled backwards.  
  
The statue exploded into tiny pieces of gravel. Cordelia averted her face. Small splinters flew past her and cut her skin. When she looked back, Angel and Buffy lay wrapped in each other amidst the rubble. Their glistening bodies were naked as babies. After all this time, they were back in the world. It seemed like a miracle. Willow lay panting several feet away from where she had been standing. The statue's head lay in her lap. A triumphant smile formed on her face. Her candlelit eyes sparkled with tears. Cordelia looked back at the couple. They appeared to be sleeping, but even unconscious, Buffy was holding tightly on to Angel. Her arm lay wrapped across his shoulder, and her tiny hand seemed as if it was trying to cover up the tattoo on his back.  
  
Cordelia looked at the others. Giles, Wesley and Faith were all brandishing stakes. Cordelia stepped out in front of them. “Not yet,” was all she said. “Not yet.”

 


End file.
